


coiled

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Series: A certain knot of peace [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, M/M, Tiptoeing towards Silverflinthamilton, Treasure Island who?, fluff fluff, snippetfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 16:37:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: "This is possibly the most sumptuous hair I have ever touched. It reminds me of a fur-trimmed pelisse Miranda once purchased from a shop in Brussels. And look how this curl, well, curls around my finger as if a living creature. Fascinating. Are you sure you want it cut?"AJohn Silver Appreciation Week...ficlet thingy. Sort of a comborama of Thursday's Hair/Outfit/Anything Appreciation and Sunday's Free Choice. And late, like everything I've done ever in my life. :)





	coiled

**Author's Note:**

> In my head this is set in the same space as [A certain knot of peace](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12667041). But with more razors!

In his chilly kitchen, a number of elements conspired against John Silver: frost on the window blurring the thin morning light; a privation of coffee, since Madi had sequestered the last of it before leaving on her latest journey three weeks prior; fingertips rubbing soft circles on his scalp.

"Thomas. You're going to put him to sleep." Flint sounded tetchy. Before breakfast he drank tea, normally, but today had yet to put on the kettle.

"What? I'm luxuriating, and ruminating." Thomas, on the other hand, sounded like he'd been awake and productive for hours, though was now lapsing into philosophical contemplation, which Silver would assuredly wish to avoid. "This is possibly the most sumptuous hair I have ever touched. It reminds me of a fur-trimmed pelisse Miranda once purchased from a shop in Brussels. And look how this curl, well, curls around my finger as if a living creature. Fascinating. Are you sure you want it cut?"

Flint said, "First of all, there will be plenty of curls left over, never fear. Secondly, it's not my--"

" _You_ have had your hands in this hair more than once," Thomas said. "You have; you're blushing."

If Silver had been less sleepy, his cheeks might have gone warm too. Well. They did go warm, but he felt certain no-one was studying his face to take note of it.

"Thomas," Flint started.

"Neither of you is whispering as quietly as you seem to think you are." Silver didn't bother to open his eyes. When Flint and Thomas were conspiring it was hardly even necessary to be in the same room with them, much less to look at either of them.

"Beg indulge us, Mr. Silver," Thomas said, some of his fingertips still kneading Silver's head as if to leave an imprint there.

"Stop calling me that."

"Of course."

Flint commanded, "Just tie it back and then I'll cut it at the tie."

"What, in one long slice?" Thomas was skeptical, it seemed.

"Yes. I sharpened this razor specifically for the occasion."

"Then I believe it's safe to assume Mr. Woodruff's barber-surgery is in no danger of competition."

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Is there a sword in the house?"

"Yes," Flint and Silver answered in unison, though Silver wasn't sure how Flint knew he'd kept one. Maybe Flint assumed no household was complete without one.

"A chorus of yes's. Well?"

"The razor will be more than sufficient," Flint said firmly.

"Fine. I am curious, though."

"Thomas, what?"

"Why you are so keen to see this done."

"It's _my_ hair, I should remind both of you. Growing ever longer and heavier by the second." Silver sighed in silence. 

In his life his hair had been a strange combination of blessing and burden -- the latter at present, since he had gone several more months than he'd intended without attending to what grew from his head like corkscrew-shaped weeds. He knew, well before this morn, the effect his hair had on other people; he hadn't been above taking advantage of its allure. Such hair was also, at times, akin to a gorgon's curse -- or one of them, anyway -- and on occasion he wondered if combing snakes would not ultimately be more pleasant. 

"There is no need for under the breath mutterings, Mr. Silver," Thomas said. "Furthermore, do you not fear for your strength? What if you are soon required to conquer a horde of soldiers with a jawbone?"

That did prompt Silver to turn his head enough to be able to squint upward. "Regardless of hair length I'm more than capable of wrestling lions, Mr. Hamilton."

"Ah-ha, well, I stand corrected then." Thomas did not appear much humbled; the quirk of his mouth belied a number of reactions he was otherwise able to keep in check, for which Silver was, at some distance, grateful. "Remind me never to gouge out your eyes or tie you to a couple of pillars."

"Ahem," Flint intervened, before Silver could respond. "Horrifying coquetry notwithstanding, we need to get on with this."

"So the two of you are in agreement, but not, I see, for the same reasons," Thomas said.

"He has asked for aid in Woodruff's interminable absence. That is all."

"I must be true to what I observe, and what I observe is how profoundly disturbed you are, James, by these opulent curls I hold here in my hands. And I wonder why this should be. They flatter him well, after all."

"Um. They do." Flint shifted on his feet.

Silver chose to remain quiet.

"Well?" Thomas prompted.

"At this length it... Reminds me of... One of ... ..."

"What's that, James? I couldn't hear, you trailed off at the end there."

"Of one of your...wigs."

Silver stifled a laugh.

Thomas did not. "Oh! Well, yes. If I recollect you liked that wig. Under certain circumstances."

"I did not, and there most assuredly were not certain circumstances." Flint seemed scandalized by the very notion.

"Ah. Yes. That was a different fellow. What about my other wig?"

"No, neither. Neither! They were both horrible wigs."

"Yes, they were. Shame, really, they each cost a small fortune. But--"

"That was still the other fellow."

"You are still not whispering as discreetly as you think." Silver almost enjoyed reminding them of his presence.

"Apologies, apologies, Mr. Silver. Forgive us." Thomas had yet to entirely remove his hands from Silver's hair, and Silver had yet to decide how he felt about it. "James. You loved me for my other assets."

"I loved you despite those wigs."

Silver looked at the clock. "Could one of you hand me the razor--"

"Here, wait, Silver." Flint gripped Silver's shoulder to keep him in the chair. "Thomas. HERE." Someone, Silver couldn't tell who, raked his fingers through Silver's hair and gathered it at the nape of his neck. "Now I'll tie-- There. Stand back."

A strange noise filled the room.

"Are you _sawing_ my hair shorter?" Silver asked, trying to lean away from whatever was happening.

"Just a-- THERE. It's done." The triumph in Flint's voice was somewhat undercut -- pun unintended, Silver thought -- by the modest prize Thomas now held in his hand: a tail, like something a trapper might hack from an unidentified feral forest creature.

Silver shook out his remaining hair. Now falling only to his shoulders and no further, at least it did feel lighter. "Next time let me sharpen the razor."

"When have you ever sharpened a razor?" Flint was insufferable sometimes.

"Only every single day for my face, and every single day for my job which, as you might recall, is as a cook and to which I am going to be late." Silver stood with his crutch under his arm and refrained from sticking his tongue out at anyone.

"You're welcome, by the way," Flint said. 

"Thank you. And thank you, Mr. Hamilton. I suppose."

"No need for thanks, Mr. Silver, I was happy to assist." The ease with which Thomas always seemed to smile continued to puzzle Silver, though Silver couldn't say he minded it, per se. "Will you be taking this... What should we call this?" The curls dangled from Thomas's hand like a dare.

"The tangible representation of seven years of my life I'll never get back." 

"It took that long for your hair to grow?"

"I meant the amount of time I have aged sitting in this kitchen this morning. Give me that, I'll throw it in the woods on the walk to the tavern. At least the birds will take some use from it."

No sooner was the hair passed to Silver than Flint was waving the razor in front of his face. Flint said, "Hold still a second--"

The razor flashed precariously close to Silver's eye. "FLINT--"

"There. That one piece needed shaping up." Flint tossed a single culled curl on the little kitchen table. He looked proud of his handiwork now, and something else Silver couldn't quite describe.

"Next time remind me to wait for Woodruff to recover from his afflictions." 

"He's an abysmal old blood-letter. Your hair looks fine. Trim ups done free of charge."

Ah, Silver thought. The expression on Flint's face had shifted to one of outright affection. Thomas, oddly enough, was not the only one capable of flirtation. 

Silver had to brace himself against his own desire to respond to it. "I'm leaving," he said, as though fed up with everything and everyone, and began walking to the door.

"Sure," Flint said, too wise, Silver knew, to take any offense. Thomas coughed politely.

_______________

"James, I see you pretending not to smile. What are you thinking?"

Flint shoved another small log in the hearth and tried to avoid getting a splinter in his thumb. "I am thinking you enjoyed having your fingers in Mr. Silver's hair."

"Yes. It is lovely hair." Thomas shook out a clean tablecloth. 

"Hmm."

"What, James?"

"You like him."

"That was not in doubt, I hope." Thomas looked over and saw Flint's raised eyebrow. "Oh, stop grinning like you've uncovered some impressive secret. Besides, my liking him is irrelevant if he doesn't reciprocate."

"Yeah, but he does." Flint stood up and clapped his hands together to dust off wood shavings.

"How do you know?"

"I know everything."

"James--"

"Neither of you has any art to your subtlety."

"His attraction to me has seemed awfully subtle thus far -- invisible, even."

"He sat there and let you pet him like a pampered spaniel for five solid minutes. And he asked for our help."

"Your help."

"I believe you were from the onset included implicitly in the request."

Thomas came over to stick the kettle on its hook over the low fire. "It was a hair cut."

"On how many occasions since we arrived have you known him to ask for help with anything? Madi isn't here--"

"See, that's the real crux of it. Desperate times--"

"Madi, unfortunately, isn't here most times, desperate or not. He can't do everything by himself constantly, and honestly how many people cut their own hair anyway? You don't. I don't. Woodruff is an imbecile but he's better than nothing. In his absence other arrangements must be made." 

Flint put an arm around Thomas's waist, because he could and the simple act of it seemed extraordinary.

Thomas frowned but in a thoughtful way, his hand gentle on Flint's wrist as he looked down at the flames in the hearth. "This seems less a convincing argument of any tolerance, however fleeting, John might feel towards me."

Flint kissed his chin. "Just. He asked. That alone is a step forward. Also, listen, you don't have to believe me, but I know him, Thomas. I know what I saw the moment he first set eyes on you."

"Which was what?"

"He did that thing, where he ducks his head with a little half-smile. Almost bashful." 

Remembering Silver then, Flint found himself warmer for it: a good memory, a fleeting moment where he'd allowed himself to believe it might work after all, to have found Silver again, to have shown up, to have brought Thomas. All of it. A start, a little kindling of hope -- Silver's expression soft and unguarded, and his eyes flitting to Flint's, knowing Flint had seen him. 

"I don't know that I've ever witnessed this?" Thomas said.

"Then you haven't been paying attention," Flint said.

"And what would such a thing have revealed to me?"

"The thoughts and gestures of a man having to reevaluate certain beliefs he may have entertained about himself in light of new evidence."

Thomas blinked at him.

"It means he's liked you too, right from the start," Flint said. "Trust me? Progress is being made."

"All right. All right." Thomas turned a little, to raise his hands to Flint's shoulders and slide them up along his neck.

"Hey. Hello."

"Your hair is fairly nice to put my fingers in as well, you know."

"Fairly?"

"Very." 

"Hmm."

The conversation continued a while longer, without words.


End file.
